


Covered

by fightthosefairies



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: #1 Best Work Husband Jensen Ackles, Dumb boys wrestling each other for some reason, Fashionista Jensen, Flirty drunk Jensen, Have your insulin ready, Jared Padalecki is a chaos monkey, Jensen Singing, M/M, Misha is an emotionally compromised nerd, Nesnej makes a cameo, Overlord!Misha cameo, Protective Boyfriend Jensen, RPF, RPS - Freeform, Rockstar Jensen Ackles, Shy Jensen, Soft shy boys being soft and shy at each other, This is going to give you the diabeetus, Unbetaed - We die like men!, too many Roadhouse references, yes they actually used to do that - frequently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:29:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21808927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightthosefairies/pseuds/fightthosefairies
Summary: Jensen Ackles has nice hands that do much.
Relationships: Jared Padalecki & Jensen Ackles (friendship), Jensen Ackles & Jared Padalecki & Misha Collins (friendship), Jensen Ackles/Misha Collins, Misha Collins & Jared Padalecki (friendship)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 67





	Covered

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: Most of these stories are fictionalized/dramatized retellings of stories both Jensen and Misha have told during panels, or things that happened during interviews/panels - but some aren't! Because I spend way too much time thinking about and losing my shit over how adorable two grown men are with each other on the regular.

__

**_“Jensen takes care of everyone.”_ **

Misha had heard it said, so many times before, that it had become a known Thing on set. Every bit as understood as the fact that Jared always got the red tape and Jensen always got the blue tape. The most fascinating thing about that particular bit of office gossip, though, was that it was absolutely true. In every possible way. 

Jensen showed his love, both in big ways and ways that were so fine and delicate they were practically invisible. But being near him, in his orbit, long enough to learn how to spot all of those moments was more than Misha had ever thought to hope for. 

A solid clap of Jensen’s hand on his shoulder when he’d done a good job. Captain of the team, of the boat, of the story, and he was _**proud**_. Of Misha. “Hey, nice work out there today, buddy,” said with a warm smile, those creases near Jensen’s eyes tempting his touch. He’d overheard a couple of the ladies in costuming mentioning that Jensen had been a cheerleader, which had intrigued him immediately. So, of course, he never breathed a word about that revelation to Jensen, himself.

* * *

That same strong hand stroking back and forth between his shoulder blades as he retched into a garbage can, off to one side of the set. One of the worst, most difficult days, if Misha was honest. They’d already postponed the shoot once, and they were running out of time, but the food poisoning was wreaking havoc with his entire body. 

The SFX team had filled his mouth with sickly sweet black goop and the taste and texture of it had caused his stomach to revolt, violently. 

“Fuck. This is _asinine_ ,” Jensen growled under his breath, voice carrying a snap of concern. “Guys, I’m callin’ it. Misha’s not doing well, right now, at all. So I’m takin’ this one to the med tent and then we’re going home.” His tone brooked no argument and Misha’s heart clenched in his chest, grateful tears creeping up into his eyes as he heard everyone around him drop everything and immediately start scrambling to make Jensen’s request happen. 

The hand stroking his back had slid off, around his waist, pulling him gently into his side to help keep him steady on his feet. The food poisoning had brought on a fever and Misha found himself all but hanging off of Jensen’s arm as he shivered and gave his most valiant effort not to faint. 

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” Jensen’s voice had been so soft it made something in his chest ache, to go along with the stomach ache. He felt light touches at his temple and opening his eyes just a fraction, he got a peek of Jensen’s blue bandanna out of the corner of his eye. “I got you, Mish. You’re gonna be fine.” 

“Sometimes being number two on the call sheet has its privileges,” he replied, his throat immediately catching fire, but he couldn’t help but tease, just a little. 

“You’re damn right, it does,” Jensen said with a hearty laugh. Not the least bit offended and too genuine to ever hop on an ego trip; he always said that sort of shit took too much energy. Moving carefully, he draped Misha’s arm over his shoulders and gently grasped his wrist, while his other arm remain curled about his waist. “C’mon, Secret of the Ooze, time for us to hit the med tent and then it’s ginger ale and Saltines for you…”

“Ugh, don’t remind me --” he grumbled, turning his head sharply to the side to spit a mouthful of black ichor into a trash can nearby. “Also the timing on that joke could have been better.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, shut it.” The reply was full-on saucy Dean Winchester, though the salt was dialed back far more than usual. Probably because Jensen was a big, soft sweetheart in the body of a Chippendale’s dancer. When he cared about you, he did so sincerely and completely. It was his humbly devoted heart that beat in Dean Winchester’s rib cage, but being on the receiving end of it was nothing short of awe-inspiring.

* * *

Two hands settled on his shoulders while the light box shone right in his face, a mic inches away but somehow it still picked up Jensen’s words as he sidled up behind Misha. “Lemme -- let me fix you."

"Awww!" The noise came from behind the camera, the interviewer bowled over by the little moment between them.

"Oh, thanks!" He managed, peeking back at him over his other shoulder.

"What're you, born in a barn?” Jensen tutted at him as his thumbs worked to nudge the loop of his tie and tuck it underneath his shirt collar. 

Big hands clapping his shoulders again, giving them the slightest little shake before he started to withdraw. Misha had done his best to keep his gaze directed at the journalist speaking to him, but once that wall of warmth behind him started to retreat, he turned his head just slightly. The slap on his ass should have been a surprise, but Misha found himself grinning because Jensen was already becoming so _predictable_ , and it was… it was charming.

* * *

He remembered one of those long, strong arms of Jensen’s draping across his shoulders as the two of them stepped back onto the stage together. Sebastian was being exhausting in a way that only he could be, and Misha was left mortified and mute as his friend flapped about, flirted and told horrible jokes. Sebastian was too much in general but the combination of very little sleep, jet lag, and too much vodka in the green room, Misha had nearly throttled his bubbly manfriend. Would have, too, had it not been for Jensen coming to his rescue, once again. 

Because, suddenly, there was a _voice he **knew**_ coming through on the speakers at his feet, and his heart leapt as he saw Jensen waiting by the microphone. He’d cut in front of the girl who’d been next in line for a question, but the girl was now getting to stand right next to Jensen as he mumbled something shyly into the microphone. She was gonna be just fine, but Misha was wondering how to make his lungs work, get his face to do the right, acceptable thing.

Then his thoughts shifted like his mind had rolled over onto its side in bed. Toronto. 

* * *

Jensen was a giggly, flirty drunk, and the night was still young, yet. None of them wanted to go back to the hotel just yet, but it was a little too late for coffee, so Misha could see why he’d asked. Why he’d looked over at Jared, swatting at his arm with the back of his hand. “Hey, slap me in the face,” he commanded. Jared had complied and, even half a broken molar later, Jensen was somehow _still laughing_.

Back at the hotel room, all the furniture pushed up against the walls, arranged together like Tetris blocks, they’d wrestled. Misha had known it was a bad idea, even tipsy as he was. Even before Jared took things too far. As usual. 

In truth, they’d _both_ taken it too far -- Jared was too determined to hear Misha say he’d won and Misha was hellbent to never let a bully get the better of him. 

That was when he felt as well as heard the three abnormally loud pops along his arm, just as Jared put his weight on his shoulder and _twisted_. Groaning, Misha pressed his forehead against the carpet, lips a thin line as he silently refused to surrender.

Jensen had intervened, then, launching himself at Jared and peeling the larger man off of his friend’s back, but mainly just putting himself between Jared and Misha. His hand flattened on Jared’s chest. “Hey, all right, man,” he murmured, his drunkenness coaxing out his sweet southern drawl. “Time to go sleep it off. Huh?”

“Y-yeah, uhh - yeah, I -- shit, sorry, man. I’m sorry,” Jared replied, shrinking into himself for a moment. “Misha, I --”

“It’s okay,” he said as he pushed himself up to stand, hands braced on his knees as they both panted. “Jared, don’t worry about it. It’s okay. Really.”

Nodding, Jared had combed his fingers through his hair, averting his eyes. “Cool. Well, I’ll um -- see you guys tomorrow. We can get coffee an’ stuff,” he mumbled. 

“Drink some water tonight, all right, man?” Jensen said, pulling his younger/bigger brother into a quick, hard hug, felt the clumsy slap of Jared’s paw against his back. “We’ll see you bright and early in the morning.”

“Kay, love you guys,” Jared said, giving Jensen’s back one last pat before he withdrew. He cast a brief apologetic glance at Misha, just over Jensen’s shoulder. “Night.”

“Night, Jared.” His hands rested on his hips as he watched the younger man show himself out of Jensen’s suite. 

How the fuck had he wound up with another, overgrown child thanks to this show? His eyes shifted over to where Jensen stood and turned to meet his gaze, his eyebrows creasing in concern.

“‘re you sure you’re okay?” He asked, the backs of his fingers lightly brushing against his arm. That same soft voice, all the creases at the corners of his eyes smoothed away and he looked _so young_. So worried. And for him. Dear, silly boy.

“Yeah, I -- I think he just popped my elbow back in place. It’s been bugging me for a while, actually,” he said, doing his best to play it off. Letting his hands slip from his hips, he lifted his left arm up and slowly bent it at the elbow, then at the shoulder, lifting it up over his head. He let his elbow rest just north of his temple as he focused on stretching his shoulder muscles. There was no pain, which both relieved and surprised him at once. “Thank you.”

“Why --? Uhh, what -- what’re you thanking me for?” Jensen had withdrawn his hand as Misha had carefully flexed his arm, leaving it hovering near Misha’s waist. He let out a bashful chuckle. 

“For rescuing me,” Misha replied, not even thinking twice about the words or what they might mean. 

He was so tired of dancing around it - literally and figuratively speaking - about this _whateverthiswas_ they had between them. That made moments like this the rule rather than the exception. The two of them subconsciously chipping and picking away at each other’s boundaries, determined to get in one way or another. Knowing that’s exactly what the other person was doing, the entire time - being fully aware of it - and not doing a single thing to stop the other person, or themselves. Because whatever this was, between them, he’d always felt like there was room in his life for it. For them. And if there wasn’t any room, they’d make some.

His own hand reached up and came to rest against the edge of Jensen’s jawline, tipping this head up with a hint of pressure and then carefully turning it. Misha’s eyes narrowed at the angry red stripe of rug burn that was already starting to form on his fair, freckled skin. “I’ve got a first-aid kit in my bag,” he said, frowning. “We should put something on this.”

“Oh, Mish, c’mon… pain don’t hurt,” Jensen teased, even his fingertips caught on Misha’s, curling around his fingers and pulling them in. Bright, happy eyes the color of granny smith apples. Definitely more sober than back on the sidewalk outside the bar, that was for sure. 

“So _that’s_ what this is,” Misha said, his voice a droll purr. “You’re setting me up for the big Roadhouse love scene, is that it? I’m Kelly Lynch in this re-enactment?” 

He’d only just noticed how close Jensen was, now. How close they were to each other. How had he only just noticed? There was the rich honey scent of bourbon on his clothes, mixed with copper from the blood he’d lost along with half his tooth earlier in the evening. 

(“ ** _Shit_** , now I gotta go to the dentist first thing in the morning. Thanks, jackass,” he’d grumbled at Jared with an astonished chuckle, spitting out a mouthful of blood as he’d tucked the tooth fragment into the front pocket of his shirt.)

The tips of Jensen’s ears were bright red, like he’d spent the whole day in the sun without sunscreen, but somehow, he pressed on. Committed to the bit. “Well, I mean... there’s no record player, but I think I can make it work, somehow,” he said, rolling his broad shoulders and letting his blazer slither off down his arms. Catching it behind his back like some kinda fancy burlesque dancer, Jensen tossed it in the direction of a nearby chair.

Once that was done, he turned right back to Misha again, that same disarmed and endearing little smile curling at his lips, but the heat in his gaze was unmistakable. Lifting his right hand, Jensen snapped his fingers and then brought his booted heel down on the floor, swaying in close to his friend. “These arms of mine,” he sang, his voice sweet and low. “They are lonely… lonely and feelin’ blue…”

Misha felt the heat splashing across his own cheeks in a blush - so strong that even the deep tan of his skin wouldn’t hide it. He folded his hands behind his back and just listened with everything he had. 

“These arms of mine,” Jensen sang softly, his hands straying out to gently grasp his hips, taking another half step closer. “They are yearning… yearning from wanting you…”

He inched closer and closer, arms slowly winding around Misha’s waist and he had to move his arms, do something with them, as Jensen’s hands bumped into his arms behind his back. Lifting them, he let his hands come to rest lightly on Jensen’s shoulders. 

Jensen crossed his arms at the wrists behind him, and the only way Misha even knew this was because he could hear and feel it when Jensen snapped his fingers behind his back, still lazily keeping tempo as they eased into an unhurried sway together.

The next thing Misha knew, Jensen had reeled him in closer still, until their bodies were pressed against each other from chest to knee. “And if you... would let them hold you,” he sang, voice barely held above a whisper, “ohh, how grateful I will be…”

Misha felt a warm touch of lips against his temple and a quiet hum escaped him, both of his arms curling around Jensen’s neck as he leaned in close. Their lips met and it was far from the first time, far from the last time, but was a slow, careful thing. 

Before things could get any more heated, he gently broke the kiss, his fingers carding through the soft spikes of his hair. “Shit, fuck, shit - I’m sorry, we shouldn’t be -- your tooth --!” He fussed, couldn’t help himself. “Fuck, I’m so sorry! Does it hurt?”

“No, no, no - I’d tell y -- I _promise_ , Mish, I’d tell you,” Jensen insisted, fingers curling ever so slightly into the denim on Misha’s hip. “It doesn’t hurt even a little! It’s fine. I swear!”

“Oh my. Well-mannered Texas boy swears in private, film at eleven,” he said, voice laced with his usual sawdust dry humor while his hand strayed up towards Jensen’s face. The very tip of his index finger lightly brushed over the bow of Jensen’s upper lip and the fuller swell of his bottom lip after. He could feel the gasp Jensen sucked through those parted lips of his, sharp and quick and cool against the sides of his finger. 

Jensen got him back soon enough, though, when he parted his lips a bit wider and captured the end of Misha’s finger in those neat, movie-star-perfect white teeth of his. Not biting down, but grinning around it, a wicked sparkle in his green eyes. Misha narrowed his own eyes at him, trying to work out the best evil genius solution to his predicament, so he leaned in close, lips pressing to the corner of Jensen’s smile.

Sure enough, Jensen’s hold on his finger was immediately released as he let out a laugh. “‘Ey, that’s no fair - that’s cheati --”

Misha was _mwahahaha_ ’ing in his head in triumph as he tipped his head down and pulled him into another kiss. There was still laughter rumbling in Jensen’s chest as they kissed and then he broke away, pressing a quick, playful succession of nibbling kisses to Misha’s lips. 

Breathless, the two of them both had to lean on each other to remain vertical, with Jensen’s hand cupping the back of his head, and still laughing. Misha had never felt safer, and that was even after Jared nearly popped his arm off like he was a life-sized GI Joe.

“As much as I _want_ to keep going, I know that -- “

“Misha…”

“I know that we’ve both had a bit to drink. Probably too much,” he finished softly. “It’s… probably better if I --”

“Yeah, sure, okay,” Jensen replied, nodding his head as though what Misha had said was the world’s most reasonable thought ever spoken aloud. But his arm remained right where it was, around his waist, keeping him close. “I mean, you don’t have to -- we don’t have to, like -- not a _**thing**_ \-- but you could still stay, if you want?” Something about watching mostly-still-drunk Jensen rambling his way through an invitation for a cuddle was unspeakably endearing. “I’d really like it. If you would. I mean, if you want to.”

He felt his own face crumple into an adoring grin for just a brief moment before biting his lip, aiming a look at him. Leaning in close, lips brushing Jensen’s ear, he let his hand slowly slide down his back, following the powerful sweep of muscles along his side. “I would love to “not a thing” with you tonight, Jensen.”

What he didn’t count on was just how hot Jensen’s breath would feel against his ear, when he tucked in close and answered him. “Okay. C’mon,” he whispered back, and Misha could feel and hear the shy smile in his voice, could feel those hands slipping away, fingers catching hold of both his own hands and tugging him to the bedroom. He’d heard the excitement in Jensen’s words and his skin felt like it was buzzing with it.

They woke up with their fingers tangled together. They were also more than 20 minutes late for their own panel and they still needed to shower. Somehow, Jensen managed to cover - for all of it - when they finally arrived. Jensen simply gestured to the devilish-looking rug burn on his jaw and his forehead and grunted, “accident with m’shaver this morning, craziest thing.”

Someone in the audience cracked a joke about electric shavers being particularly lethal on Tuesdays, everybody laughed, and just like that, all was forgotten. 

Misha found himself thinking it was a damn good thing Jensen was a nice boy from Texas. He’d be absolutely dangerous, otherwise.

* * *

“I still don’t understand how this is not just … utterly exhausting, to you?” Misha asked, frowning at his reflection as he held his arms up and out behind him. The next thing he felt was the glide of a silk lining trail over his skin as Jensen helped him into a dark blue suit jacket. 

Standing just behind him, Jensen’s touch was feather light as he ran his hands over Misha’s back and shoulders, smoothing away the slight wrinkles in the fabric from where he’d settled it. His hands moved in long, steady strokes, following the line of his shoulders and trailing outward. 

Jensen’s fingers caught hold of the seams where the sleeves met the body of the jacket at his shoulders, giving a little pinch. Testing and measuring - what he should be feeling versus what he was actually feeling there. It reminded him of going to the Good Will and trying on clothes with his mother and brother when he was seven.

The costuming department had shared a bit of trivia with Jensen at some point - namely that both of them wore the exact same sizes in clothes, from head to toe, shoes included - and now, he took every opportunity to drag him away to some boutique for this nonsense.

He glanced up at Jensen in the mirror’s reflection and their eyes met and locked there. Jensen was clad in a simple black t-shirt with a splashy white print on the front, but his jeans were at least ten years old, worn in and beat up and comfortable. He had a pair of gold aviators perched on his handsome face, a thoughtful frown pursing his lips as he surveyed Misha’s reflection.

“It’s not. Not when I’ve got you to model everything for me, Dmitri,” he replied, the fond warmth and amusement in Jensen’s words making him smile in spite of himself. Jensen’s hands slid down, grasping his arms and giving them a brief squeeze as he drew Misha back against his body. Arms going around him, his fingers plucked at the lapels of the jacket. “Not bad, but we’d need to get it tailored - shoulders aren’t fitted right. What d’you think?”

“I think Ken and I will look amazing on our date tonight,” Misha replied, the corner of his mouth quirking up. 

“I was thinking more for the up-fronts, but a hot date works, too,” Jensen said with a chuckle. His chin came to rest on Misha’s shoulder. “Where we goin’?”

“I’m not telling you, because clearly I have a plan and it’s all a big, complicated secret.” He was really bad at ad-libbing, sometimes. Especially when Jensen was staring at him that way. “More of a conspiracy, really.” Even with his sunglasses on, the smile Jensen was aiming at him was devastating. Absolutely unfair.

Returning to his usual, impeccable posture, Jensen reached up, fingers curling underneath the jacket’s lapels and peeling the garment off of him with care. Misha missed the small weight of his chin on his shoulder immediately. “Well, you’re kinda a mastermind, so I believe the ‘it’s a conspiracy’ thing.”  
  
Misha made a big show of gasping, one hand settling on his own chest, just over his heart. “I bet you say that to all the evil geniuses.” 

Jensen’s laughter rang out loud in the small shop and Misha felt a playful slap to his ass. He moved away, then, taking a moment to slip the jacket back onto its fancy, heavy hanger before placing it on the ‘definite yes’ rack. 

* * *

Misha had watched those hands when Jensen first picked up a guitar and, slowly but surely, had learned to play it. Somehow, Jensen had managed to get better every single time he rested the instrument in his lap to play for Misha, his voice ringing out with his growing strength and confidence. 

Jensen’s fingers were thicker and shorter than his own as they curled around the neck of the acoustic guitar, but Misha was always mesmerized by them. Every time he would reach for Jason’s guitar in the green room, he was always noticeably better than the last time, his fingers plucking at the strings with ease borne of time and muscle memory. Because the fans had their favorite songs and Jensen could never find it in his big, soft heart to tell them no. 

The bashful delight on Jensen’s face as he sat down for his first impromptu concert for a room full of fans had made Misha’s heart swell tight, filling all the space in his chest and leaving him no room to breathe. Jensen’s fingers had fumbled on the strings every so often and he might have sung a flat note here or there, but the fans could see how nervous he was and cheered for him that much louder. 

He’d been so caught up listening to him from the green room that he’d missed Jensen returning from his panel. One large hand settled on the small of his back - startlingly warm against his skin through the thin fabric of his dress shirt - and he sucked in a soft gasp. He twisted at the hip and found Jensen standing directly behind him, fingers curled around the wash-worn cotton of his shirt and giving it the tiniest tug. 

“Mish --” 

“Hey, you’re here! You scared me!” There wasn’t a hint of scolding in his voice. The look on Jensen’s face was just too much - no amount of his sarcasm or wry humor could or would dampen his palpable excitement and joy.

“Oh! M’sorry,” he breathed, instantly contrite yet still grinning from ear to ear as he leaned in, arms opening for him and beckoning him closer. Misha moved into that space, body fitting against his like they’d been made for it, arms draping around his waist as they embraced each other. 

“No, no! Don’t be silly, don’t be sorry,” Misha tutted, his hands traveling over Jensen’s back, fingers raking their deliberate way up and along. He leaned a fraction, cheek resting against Jensen’s own. He allowed himself a moment - just the smallest, slightest, most insignificant of seconds - to be there, holding him. He could feel the effects of the adrenaline still ricocheting through Jensen’s body, which had left him practically vibrating by the time he set foot off-stage.

The clean, sweet, woody-smoke scent of Jensen’s cologne closed around him and he found himself nuzzling in closer, lips and nose pressing against his throat. “You took a deep breath and jumped, out there, tonight,” he whispered. “You were incredible.”

He felt a hand, then, as it came to rest on the nape of his neck, gently grasping and squeezing as Jensen pulled him in that much closer. “Couldn’t have done it without you,” he said in a quiet murmur. 

“A guitar’s pretty helpful, too.” Because he just couldn’t stop himself from being that asshole, even when Jensen was being so tooth-achingly sweet to him.

Jensen’s lips were warm as he pressed them against Misha’s cheek, strong hand still palming the back of his neck, kneading there slowly like a cat with a beloved catnip toy. His answer was so quiet, Misha almost missed it. “Not compared to you.”

He should have been celebrating his own personal and creative victory, but instead, it felt more like he was laying it at Misha’s feet in tribute. Jensen always took care of everyone, but for some reason -- _some_ damn reason -- he loved taking care of Misha more than most things. 

Misha looped his arms around his neck, then, tugging him in closer, crushing him in closer, lips brushing his ear. “I love you,” he said, voice a gruff croak, an aching knot forming at the back of his throat as his eyes prickled with salt.

Suddenly, Jensen’s arms were around his waist and they were like bands of iron, clamping around him, and it hurt, and he never wanted him to let go. Face buried in Misha’s shoulder, his own stalwart shoulders trembling, he hung on as tight as he dared. 

They both did.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was well on the way to being a thing when Christmas Cockles season kicked off on December 14th, thanks to Jensen Ross Ackles trying to single-handedly kill the fandom with a 10-year challenge photo of himself and Misha. Life. Ruiners. 
> 
> Let's call this one an anniversary gift to the Cockles fans, who always believed. Also to Jensen, who is probably one of the bravest people I know. Lastly but never leastly, to Misha, for doing some rescuing of his own. Thank you.
> 
> Fic title inspired by the song "Covered," by Uh Huh Her:  
> "Covered by the dark, no light  
> You're covered in my hands tonight"
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hXPPe5apc94
> 
>   
> In the fic, Jensen sings "These Arms Of Mine" acapella - a song, originally by Otis Redding, that featured heavily in at least two separate Patrick Swayze love scenes, so I felt it was hella appropriate: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aUaO50nWnvg


End file.
